


musings of the heart

by allsovacant



Series: johnlock•actually [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, Fluff, Freeform, John's POV, Love Confessions, M/M, Soft Kisses, warm hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: Sometimes it takes a theory to reflect upon, and a bored flatmate to test it. In short, Sherlock and John are in love and this summary doesn't make sense. Period.





	musings of the heart

"BORED!", exclaims the deep baritone voice from across the living room. I pause on browsing BuzzFeed's website to glance at the long figure of my flatmate now occupying the couch.

And I, John Hamish Watson, once again—is the sole witness of it. Six foot tall of a sulking consulting detective.  
The clock just hit eight-thirty in the morning and yes, the street of Marylebone has been buzzing outside like bees on a hive.

"Why don't you watch some telly?" I ask softly.

A series of irritated mumbling ensued that I barely understood anything.

"This and that... And a replay of Britain's Got Talent from last night is on—DULL. Tedious. _Boring_.". The last word was accentuated by flailing hands up in the air.

I sigh heavily as I contemplate if it is the right time to say the _word._ But then again, even if we had spent the week not saying it, because of our work, it can't be helped.

I huff a breath and returned my gaze on my laptop, counting to ten backwards. Then I said it.

"Err.. _Case?_ No new _case_ then?"

The air stilled around the flat as an unnerving silence enveloped us.

As far as I know, there hasn't been a Holmes- _worthy_ case for a week that's why my flatmate's nerves are hitting below boredom levels. I could think of a million reasons to entertain him, but I'm a bit hesitant. There's been a change in the atmosphere between us after the last case that had gone wrong. When we were dragged by Lestrade and his men on a hostage situation inside an abandoned warehouse. I helped them calm the hostage taker, a distraught retired military man who've lost the custody of his daughter in a marriage that had gone wrong. Unbeknownst to us, he buried an improvised bomb on the attic of the warehouse and it was merely seconds before Sherlock deduces it—frantically, accidentally cuts the wrong wire of the mechanism triggering the explosion above us. It killed the hostage taker who was situated near the stairs and unfortunately the hostage as well.

But those mere seconds Sherlock looked into my eyes and I saw not just fear. And that's also the moment he pounced on me and buried me in his arms. As if his Belstaff pushing on my face, my body, could save me. I couldn't forget how he trembled and Greg has to shake him away from me. And Sherlock, my friend, best friend, flatmate, was shaking and still whispering, 'You're not going to die, John. Not on me. Never.' And that's when I realise I was shaking as well. PTSD overthrown my will to be a soldier. To be the one who saves Sherlock. To be the one to keep him safe. In response, I held him as well, hugging him closer to me. Clinging to his coat like a child. I buried my face on the crook of his neck, and felt warmth—just like that we stayed. I felt his fingers on my hair and heard him whisper my name over and over again. I felt safe. Safer than anywhere else in the world. I didn't recall what happened after that. We were ushered home and Mes. Hudson tended o us. The next day, Greg came over and the three of us conversed about what happened. Everything was back to the usual—except for the moments when I look at Sherlock and he returns my gaze. There was something new there in his eyes. Warmth? Admiration? I'm still not sure, but I'm willing to take the wee bit of chance I'd come across to put my theories into rest.

"Well, I wouldn't be stuck in here, if there's a new one. Obviously. What's wrong with criminals these days?" Sherlock huffs angrily to no one bringing me back into reality.

Here he is, my Sherlock Holmes, back again in his own self. Before I'd look away and Sherlock would just sneak into my drawer looking for my gun or just immediately storms out of the flat to ease his boredom.

That was before. Before the case.

But now, I'm pretty sure Sherlock would never leave my side. For as curious as I am with what has been going on between us. What more can this cause to a genius detective who haven't... fallen in love before.

Yes, that's it. Love. I am in love with Sherlock Holmes. I admit it took a long time, and on a sad note it has to cost lives. But now I solemnly swear to protect Sherlock with my own life from now on. Much eager than before.

"Dear God! This neanderthal that claims to be a genius is such a fake! How did he even passed Cowell?! Ridiculous!"

I smiled at the figure now sitting up on his chair, carding long fingers over his own hair and walked slowly behind him.

It's now or never.

If this ends well, I still have a flat and who knows a boyfriend—but if not, I'll probably be thrown out and end up homeless. But at least I get to do it.

I looked down at the dark curls in front of me and slowly I slipped my fingers through it, marveling at its softness. But the moment my fingers touched his scalp, I feel Sherlock stiffen and my knees as well. Carefully, I let my left hand crawl slowly on Sherlock's throat, my thumb nudging his jaw to tilt upward. And I nearly cursed as it was followed by a soft gasp from him.

I swallowed a lump on my throat and my lips went dry when our gazes met. Warm, electric, familiar and instantly I felt sucked inside those beautiful eyes. I leaned down letting my forehead touch his. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. I am lost of air and I know Sherlock's breathing had been ragged from the past minute? Minutes? How long has it been since I was standing here, I have no idea.

"John...?" Sherlock's voice startle me. It was unsure, hesitant, afraid and I almost blamed myself for causing him this state of confusion.

My gaze focused again on the man before me and I smiled at him.

"Sherlock..."

I breathe his name like a silent prayer. An unheard wish deep within me. And just like that he seemed to know. He seemed to understand. A bit cautious but still he smiled back at me. Then it turned to be a bold, challenging grin.

"You are a marvel, John Watson. You have managed to derail my thoughts once again."

I grinned back at him and tucked away the stray curls back to where it should be.

"I know a cure for your boredom." I whispered playfully. My voice ghosting over his face.

"No, you don't." Sherlock says smugly. Not even leaning away at our closeness.

"Yes, I do. If you'll let me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his curvy lips slightly opens to an 'O' and as if on cue, my body decides to lean down and capture them.

With a muffled moan we kissed. A simple peck on the lips that I was planning as a test, turned into a heated snogging session. I could feel Sherlock everywhere. As if he's inside my head. As if he occupies my whole body and soul. And there I realised that I really am in love with this man.

Our kisses turned to a messy one while Sherlock's hands invaded spaces. The back of my neck, the inside of my jumper, the expanse of my chest. I felt the first stirrings of arousal but Sherlock in the same state of his own refused to let go. My fingers searched for his glorious curls once again to worship. My lips ached from the sweetest pain of Sherlock nipping at them and my knees are more than ready to give up. As if sensing my ordeal, Sherlock huffed a breath and pulled away. His eyes wide, and searching all over my face. I leaned down once again and kissed his temple. After that when our eyes met again, I almost laughed at the stunned look on Sherlock's face. But I could tell that calmness had settled down on him.

"Told you I do." I said with a playful grin and a wink. Then I turn around and made my way to the kitchen. That's when I heard a muffled groan followed by an, 'Oh, John...' that added on the reason to grin.

"How 'bout some cookies? I'll bake some for us and tea." I offered heartily.

There was no response, so I turn to look at the man. And when I did, I giggled. A giggle that turned into a laughter, because a Sherlock Holmes, sitting on his chair with an arm wrapped around his propped knees, cheeks flushed with a free arm over his eyes is enough to make me laugh.

I prepared everything on the kitchen table and started to mix the ingredients when a pair of long arms snaked its way on my waist holding me tight against him. A chill ran down my spine as Sherlock's deep baritone voice talked over my ear.

"I love you and your cure for boredom, John."

A smile paints on my lips as I turn sideways in time of meeting Sherlock's lips and the show on the telly started once again.

Theories has been put to rest.  
Well done, Watson.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Thank you so much for reading!_  
>  This work is unbeta'ed. Forgive me for my mistakes.


End file.
